“If you become a sailboat and sail away from me,” said his mother, “I will become the wind and blow you where I want you to go.” —Margaret Wise Brown, The Runaway Bunny
“Head southeast!” chirps the cheery, optimistic voice of my GPS as I pull out of the driveway, in search of the nearest expressway. There’s only one problem—I have no idea which way “southeast” is. I would infinitely rather hear my GPS say, “Turn right (or left).” Instead, most of my driving adventures begin with “Rerouting…” because I have made a wrong directional choice yet again. I didn’t advance far in Scouting during my youth, either, so I never learned how to find magnetic north with my compass on a hike. I also must remind myself that the sun rises over the Atlantic Ocean and sets over the Pacific. In short, I don’t have the slightest clue which way is up.
Lately I’ve been wondering about the fate of directionally-challenged folks in the past—before GPS, before (yes!) MapQuest. Back then, primitive maps showed a flat earth, with horrible sea creatures menacing those who managed to keep from falling off the edge of the planet. No wonder the brave explorers were so few! Many people lived their entire lives just a mile or two from the place where they’d been born. This was probably much safer, although extreme cases, like me, might still have gotten totally lost within yards of home.
How did the intrepid world travelers of history cope? Answer: the wind.
Many ancient cultures, seeking a way to describe direction, settled on the blowing winds. Farmers and sailors were attuned to the various qualities of the wind (dry, humid) as well as which way the wind was coming from. While some winds cropped up with little warning, certain major wind patterns were consistent and predictable.
Take the trade winds, for example. Trade winds are a band of winds above and below the equator, blowing east to west in accordance with the earth’s rotation. Sailors have known about them for many centuries. Trade winds were so named because sailors on ships full of goods to trade knew these winds would reliably blow in the same direction, helping them plot their course. Following the east-to-west pattern was how sailing vessels traveled. Sailors counted on the trade winds to literally blow them in the right direction.
Today, wind is an important factor in air travel. The jet stream is the wind that blows high up in the troposphere, from west to east. Airplanes fl ying with the jet stream have the wind “at their back,” allowing them to fl y much faster than on the return trip when they encounter headwinds.
Generally speaking, I don’t pay much attention to the fl ow of the air. To be fair, it’s not the most noticeable natural phenomenon, especially when the air movement is gentle. Mostly, I take the wind for granted, in the same way I usually don’t register my own steady breathing.
In Scripture, wind symbolizes the breath of God’s animating spirit (ruah in Hebrew). Wind, something you can feel, but not see, has long been a metaphor for the mysterious movement of God. Just as I pay little attention to my own breathing, or the constant motion of the breeze, I don’t tend to recognize that God’s spirit is ever-present all around me. And I certainly don’t allow God’s “trade winds” to influence my path through the world.
But what if I did? What if I relied on God to keep me going in the right direction? I am, after all, sailing on the perilous ocean called life. I, too, am a vessel carrying precious cargo (the people and things that are important to me). It would make sense to study the wind and then go where it takes me. This utter confidence in God would require a degree of surrender that is rather alien to me. After all, not only do I not bother learning north from south with my GPS; I don’t even try. I just set off and have to make course corrections from the start. Like the stubborn sailor I am, I head directly into the trade winds, away from my hopes and dreams, and then wonder why the journey is impossibly hard.
Saint Augustine is quoted as saying, “God provides the wind, but man must raise the sails.” For me, raising the sails might mean spending more time in prayer, entering the conversation God longs to have with me. My sail-raising can even be a very small motion, indicating my readiness to partner with God. Winds propel tiny Sunfish, as well as giant clipper ships, so the size of my sails doesn’t have to be grand. As for what to say, which so often stymies me, perhaps, along with Thomas Merton, I can recognize that “the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is all in all.”
Letting go of the illusion of control is one of my life’s great, ongoing lessons. Having children, then seeing them grow up and leave, reminds me that ultimately, I never could control their movement in the world. Like the mother rabbit in The Runaway Bunny, I longed to be a strong wind that blew my kids exactly where I wanted them to go. Amazingly, things didn’t turn out that way.
But maybe there’s a better way to think of this powerful, loving wind. Perhaps if I focus on the source of the wind (not me!) I can slip into the jet stream. Maybe I can ride along with the trade winds. I can be carried where God wants me to go, and model that trust for my own loved ones. And so, the next time I get in the car, I may be able to tell northwest from southeast and then let my Lord’s GPS take it from there.
Elise Seyfried is the author of five books of humorous spiritual essays. Before retirement, Elise served for 20 years as director of spiritual formation at Christ’s Lutheran Church in Oreland, Pennsylvania.
This article appears in the March/April/May 2026 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.